


Lesser Known Good

by Entobian



Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Charon is a post-war ghoul, Dane is kind of a whimp, First Meetings, Good Karma, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Memory Loss, Needles, Strong Language, Unrequited Crush, tags will update as I write
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-06 03:44:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8733523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entobian/pseuds/Entobian
Summary: Ahzrukhal sends him off as some errand boy, and then this smoothskin shows up, dragging trouble behind him and making him waste bullets. Still, he had treated him kindly despite Charon’s obvious displeasure. It had been awhile since, well, anyone had thanked him for anything. Dane’s kindness was refreshing. He walked through the front door, and leaned sloppily against the wall, mumbling to himself and lost in thought. “Charon.” Ahzrukhal barked. “Focus.” Charon snapped up and grunted in reply before he readjusted his slipping posture. He didn’t think he would see the wanderer again, but a small part of him hoped he would. A part Charon couldn’t remember feeling before.





	1. Chapter 1

A soft light shone over the cracked earth of the Wasteland, leaving an orange hue over the trenches and decrepit buildings just outside Underworld. No reasonable person could call it beautiful, but when the air wasn’t blistering, and Hell’s finest creatures weren’t stomping around outside, Charon was content to call it _manageable._ Maybe even a little pretty. He slowly walked towards the middle of the ruined courtyard, taking in the scenery beyond. The ghoul didn’t often get time to himself, but this morning Ahzrukhal had him running an errand. A waste of time, but still, it offered a quiet moment for Charon to relax without constantly being watched by his contract holder. He smiled softly and stuck a cigarette in his mouth, cupping his hand as he fumbled with the lighter. Damn thing never lights― 

“I thought you said you’d quit,” said a familiar high-pitched rasp and he bit his cigarette in surprise. He dropped his hands to his side and rolled his head over his shoulder, glaring. Willow, local sentry, sharpshooter, and giver of unnecessary reminders. She was leaning against the worn entrance to the repurposed museum before she trotted over and held out her hand. “Doctor’s orders.” Charon grumbled before spitting the cigarette into the dirt, and then pulled a pack out from his pocket and tossed it toward her. She caught it with ease.

“It’s not like it matters,” he grumbled. “We’re already dead.”

“Not quite,” Willow laughed, picking some skin off her hand before running it through the patchy red hair that clung to her head. “What are you out here for, anyway?” She was a rather slender ghoul, with thin, ripped lips and sleepy eyes. Her leather armor was cracked and barely held together by a few large stitches, with an old road sign repurposed into a shoulder pad. Despite her frame, she carried a massive sniper rifle, mostly scrapped parts, that she had designed. Willow slung it off her shoulder as she walked towards a barricade on the outside edge, and motioned with the barrel for Charon to follow.

“Shipment for Ahzrukhal. Ran out of…. materials,” he shrugged. “Told me to pick them up.”

“He such an ass,” she sighed as she peered through the scope. “Do you think he’ll make you get them again if the guy never shows up? The mutants don’t care for tourists.” Charon only grunted before leaning against the barrier, and squinting towards the horizon as the sun rose further. The sky wasn’t orange anymore. Instead, the harsh sunlight washed out the crumbling buildings around them. A moment wasted, once again. At least the entrance to Underworld was shaded, keeping them out of the climbing heat until noon.

The pair sat in silence until Willow began her patrols. An hour passed, and Charon had begun to nod off. Then two, until Willow returned and nudged him awake. He scowled, but she pressed a bony finger to her lips and nodded towards the trenches in the courtyard outside. Charon straightened his back to look over the barricade they were behind. He could hear the faint sound of super mutants yelling threats, a minigun firing, and then a loud explosion somewhere out of sight. The commotion wavered back and forth before it began to grow louder. Whatever was happening, it was getting closer to them. Suddenly, Willow hissed. She was focused on something through her scope.

“Something’s running this way. Bipedal. Person-sized-”

“Paladin?” Charon scowled.

“No. They aren’t wearing the armor.” She lifted the rifle into the air. “I’m going to move up, get a better position in case the mutants come after us, too.” Charon nodded, keeping his head turned towards the sound. Multiple explosions, a few mutant cries. Probably just the delivery guy.

He launched himself over the barricade, keeping low and moved into cover behind a rusty, reinforced bus station. Slowly, he looked around the corner, trying to remain hidden. He could see the silhouette of someone sprinting towards his position, but the bright light hid their features. Charon swung out, shotgun ready, before he heard a minigun charge up and the figure stumble and duck before throwing a grenade behind them. A stray bullet grazed Charon’s cheek and he ducked back into cover. Dozens of bullets collided with the metal plating, but thankfully it held up. There was an explosion, more mutant shrieks, and Charon glanced up just in time to see someone leap past him. Warm, blue eyes locked on his, with a few strands of platinum hair gently waving as they moved. A smoothskin.

They vanished quickly, sprinting towards Charon’s original position, vaulting over the barricade, and then ducking out of sight. Charon stared for a moment before shaking his head and focusing on the battle before him. Only one mutant was still pursuing, his tongue lolled out of his mouth with a huge hammer in hand, flailing it wildly, and totally unaware of the hidden ghoul. Charon acted fast, pulling himself on top of the bus stop as the mutant flew past. He aimed his shotgun, steady, lethal, and shouted.

“Mutant!” his raspy voice had developed into an all-out growl. “You are in Underworld territory.” The mutant stopped quickly, and whipped his head towards Charon. The ghoul held fast, refusing to be intimidated. Even though he had the high ground, the mutant’s head rose to the height of his waist, and if combat progressed, he would likely have his feet knocked out from underneath him. He used one hand to point towards Willow, and the mutant followed the path of his hand. She nodded in response, keeping the sights locked firmly on the super mutant’s head from her perch on the museum’s roof. “Leave now or die.”

The only thing that had been keeping the mutants out of Underworld was a shaky, oral treaty that can be summed up as _mind your own damn business_ and _stay out of each other's territories._ Charon hoped that would hold up now.

“Give me the human!” the mutant shrieked and turned back toward Charon, lips curled to reveal a holey smile and hammer ready. He looked ready to swing in an instant as he stepped threateningly toward Charon with a purposeful thud. Charon replied, heaving his chest and pushing the barrel of his shotgun less than a foot from the mutant’s head, baring his own teeth. He may have been smaller than the mutant, but he was still muscular and well-built, and his years as a bouncer gave him experience in looking intimidating. 

“Our turf, our rules.” Charon hissed, eyes narrowed. “Walk. Now.” They hung in silence, each glaring at the other, watching for an sign of weakness. Charon’s keen senses picked up movement at the stranger’s hiding place, and his eye was instinctively drawn to it. He saw a few wisps of hair shining in the mid-morning sun. A soft hand had grasped the top of the barrier and the smoothskin quietly peered over, towards him. Charon’s eyes widened and his face felt hot.

Unfortunately, the mutant noticed.

In a flash, the mutant flipped around, and with a roar he hurled the hammer at Charon’s legs, knocking them out as he fired at the mutant’s skull, missing his mark but still sending a spray of blood from his giant head. Charon crashed onto his back, and air was forced from his lungs and the world spun around him. Willow pulled her trigger and a crack filled the air, nailing the mutant right in the throat. He wheezed as blood poured from the lethal wound in black globs. The mutant lifted a large hand to cover the wound, and then turned to the wanderer, ready to crush again with his giant hammer. Instead, he was met with bullets. The wanderer had stood from their position, and with both hands, fired into the head of the mutant. He collapsed with a final gurgle. The wanderer breathed a loud sigh of relief, and glanced over at Charon, still dazed but watching closely.

They appeared to be male, roughly nineteen, maybe twenty years old. His face was charming, with gentle eyes, an angled jaw, button nose and slightly pink lips. He had long, ruffled hair that wrapped around a pair of black welder’s goggles atop his head, and wore a blue jumpsuit. His crisscrossed leather shoulder pads and belts bore the signs of the wasteland: dirt, blood, patches. Yet, despite the grime, his skin didn’t bear the same scars and scuffs, as though he had never been attacked in his life. At his waist there was a large side bag that clinked musically as he holstered his pistol, surrounded by wrenches and tools of varying sizes. Several landmines and grenades were hooked opposite the bag, and he seemed to be wearing some sort of large, metal gauntlet with a glowing screen on one hand. A large sack was slung over his shoulder next to a hunting rifle. He began to approach Charon.

“Are you oka―” Charon cut him off with his hand as he stood. The wanderer was about a head shorter than him, and he wasn’t about to let some smoothskin talk him off.

“Are you here with the delivery?” he growled impatiently, wiping the blood off his face.

“Delivery?” the wanderer tilted his head slightly. “Oh, right. Then this is Underworld….” He trailed off and glanced towards the museum. Charon huffed. “Sorry,” the wanderer mumbled, clearly embarrassed. “The man I was with said he was bringing this bag here. Dunno what’s in it, but it must be important,” he trailed off again, looking melancholy. “He…. he didn’t make it. I thought I should bring it in his place.” 

Charon rolled his eyes and grabbed the bag from the wanderer’s shoulders, frustrated and tired from waiting so damn long. Who was this guy anyway, dragging mutants into Underworld territory, approaching a ghoul settlement like it was _no big deal_. Damn smoothskins think they own everything, like they can walk anywhere they want, unprepared. “Come with me,” he grumbled and stomped off. The wanderer glanced nervously towards Willow, who returned a friendly wave.

“Have fun, tourist!” she smirked as the pair disappeared through the front doors.

 

“I-I’m sorry about your delivery man,” the wanderer whispered, intimidated by the large rooms they walked through on the way to Underworld. He jumped at every unexpected rattle, wringing his fingers and looking around nervously. When they passed the collapsed lizard-beast skeleton near the main entrance, the wanderer looked sick to his stomach.

“Is that,” the wanderer paused, searching for the right word. “....recent?”  Charon remained stone-cold and silent. To be honest, he wasn’t sure, but watching the smoothskin grimace at the giant teeth and jaws was more entertaining than conversation. “There’s some pretty wild stuff outside, huh?” Still no reply. “What’s your name?” Charon snorted and gave an obvious eyeroll. He heard the wanderer take another breath to speak, but he paused and held his mouth shut. He evidently had caught on to Charon’s annoyance. 

They arrived at the doors to Underworld and Charon paused, turning to the wanderer. He appeared to be occupied gazing at the large skull overhead, but went stiff when he noticed Charon was looking at him. The ghoul looked away quickly, before pushing open the doors.

“I’m taking you to Ahzrukhal. You can collect your caps and go.” Charon just wanted to get this over with. The wanderer offered no protest, and continued to follow silently behind him. Several ghouls glanced at the pair at they made their way up the stairs towards The Ninth Circle, and a few turned towards their friends and whispered, clearly on edge with the presence of the smoothskin. Charon glanced back to see the wanderer hanging his head, confused, and avoiding eye contact.

Ahzrukhal was sorting caps at one of the tables when the pair walked in. He glanced at Charon without turning away from the pile in front of him.

“About time you showed up, who’s this smoothskin,” he motioned to the wanderer with one finger.

“Delivery. Needs his caps.” Charon set the bag on a chair next to Ahzrukhal before crossing his arms and retaking his usual position at the bar’s corner.

“Yes, of course,” Ahzrukhal stood and brushed off his dirty suit. “I trust that everything is in order?” He looked at the wanderer expectantly.

“I, uhm….” he looked towards Charon nervously, and then stiffened before looking back to Ahzrukhal. “.... Yes.” Charon raised one eyebrow. “But I’m not the original deliverer, he was killed.... I-I’d like the money to go towards him, maybe his family, if possible. Do you know how I can find them?” Charon raised the other, this time in genuine surprise. 

Ahzrukhal’s fingers twitched against the counter, and he hung his head, chuckling deeply, before he threw it back and stared at the wanderer with a menacing smirk.

“What are you, some sort of hero?” he laughed again, gravely and dark, and his voice began to rise. “Nobody out here has family. Do you even know what’s in that bag?” Ahzrukhal wasn’t even trying to hide his laugh anymore, and the wanderer looked confused and hurt. Charon felt pity, but refused to intervene. “Congratulations on your first chem deal, dumbass, first one’s on the house” Ahzrukhal tossed a bag of caps and a syringe of psycho at the wanderer. He barely caught them. “Now get the fuck out of Underworld.” He looked at Charon, motioning for him to get to work. Charon nodded, moving in between the wanderer and Ahzrukhal. He looked very small, shaking in front of the tall ghoul and staring at the objects in his hands.

“Come on, let’s go,” Charon said quietly as Ahzrukhal turned back to his caps. The wanderer only nodded, his shoulders slumped, as he backed out of The Ninth Circle and down the stairs. Charon followed close behind, guiding him to the Underworld’s extravagant exit. It wasn’t until they reached the doors that the wanderer spoke.

“Thank you for your help earlier,” he smiled, but sadness quivered in his voice. Charon scanned his face without moving, hoving on his blue eyes. The wanderer blinked with his long, dusty eyelashes before he glanced up unexpectedly and they stared at each other. The ghoul held there for a moment before turning away, snorting. His face felt hot again, and he didn’t like it.

“It’s probably best if you don’t come back for awhile,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact. “Ahzrukhal doesn’t like it when people rock the boat. Especially smoothskins.” He nodded in understanding, and then a quizzical look crossed his face.

“What’s a smoothskin?” the wanderer asked. Charon raised his eyebrows again. He really didn’t know anything.

“It’s….you know….” Charon didn’t understand why he felt so flustered, and looking at the wanderer only made it worse. “You non-ghouls, since you’re soft― and stuff.” All this talking was making him uncomfortable.

“Oh, okay,” he smiled, this time more genuine. The heat was getting worse. “I’m Dane, what’s your name?” Charon paused for a long time, debating telling him any more, before he answered, hiding the shake in his voice. 

“Charon.” Dane nodded in reply.

“I guess I’ll see you around?” Charon mumbled in agreement, and watched as the wanderer pushed open the door and walked out of sight. The ghoul finally relaxed a tenseness he hadn’t realized was there, and sighed heavily before walking back to The Ninth Circle. What a joke. Ahzrukhal sends him off as some errand boy, and then this smoothskin shows up, dragging trouble behind him, making him waste bullets. Still, he had treated him kindly despite Charon’s obvious displeasure. It had been awhile since, well, anyone had thanked him for anything. Dane’s kindness was refreshing.

He walked through the front door, and leaned sloppily against the wall, mumbling to himself and lost in thought.

“Charon.” Ahzrukhal barked. “Focus.” Charon snapped up and grunted in reply before he readjusted his slipping posture. He didn’t think he would see the wanderer again, but a small part of him hoped he would. A part Charon couldn’t remember feeling before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading this initial chapter! this is the first fic i've ever written, and i really want to continue with it. if you have any suggestions for how i can improve my writing, please let me know! thanks again :)


	2. Chapter 2

It was late afternoon when Charon returned from another hit. Ahzrukhal had sent him out earlier to dispose of a competitor, and though he hated working for his current contract holder, he could at least take pleasure in knowing he was killing off another gutless chem dealer.

Now, he stood in front of an old sink, splashing his face to wash the dried blood from his last kill.  
This one had been particularly messy, and Ahzrukhal forbid him from reentering until he was more presentable. Charon didn’t think it was so bad, but if he wasn’t clean enough for a chem den, then maybe there was some truth to it.

The mirror in front of him was tarnished and dirty, but he could still see his reflection through the grime. The doctor was right, he was healing better since he quit smoking so damn much. The scars and scratches that covered his square jaw and cheekbones had dulled to a light brown, better matching his tanned skin. His lips, though still ragged, looked far less necrotic, and the skin had stopped peeling around what was left of his nose. His eyes were stern, but had lost their yellowish tint, making them cloudy and white. Overall, he felt he looked healthier. Stronger. Less feral. If anything, it would at least keep the flies off him. Charon ruffled his patchy red hair a few times before turning from the mirror and hooking back into his armor. Appearances could wait. Ahzrukhal wouldn’t.

He strode back into The Ninth Circle, late, and saw Willow ordering a drink at the bar. Jazz music played from a bent-up radio in the corner, and the gentle murmur of evening conversation filled the dim, smoky room. A pair of ghouls lay passed out in the back, empty canisters of jet strewn around them. She looked over her shoulder as Charon silently took his place in the corner, and squeezed past the other patrons to grab a seat near him.

“I know Ahzrukhal doesn’t like you talking on the job, but I thought you’d want to know,” she kept her voice low. “Remember that kid from a month ago? He stopped by while you were gone. Asked about you. Ahzrukhal isn’t happy about it.” Charon’s pulse rose, but he remained silent. Any talking on his part would only upset Ahzrukhal more, and he could feel his eyes watching Charon from behind the bar.

“And Charon,” she paused again, biting her lip. She was holding something back. “We talked…. I told him about your, uhm, situation. He wants to help.” Charon’s eye widened, and he glanced towards Willow, shocked. She half smiled, but in a sad way. Why would Dane ever come back for him? If anything, it would only make more trouble for the ghoul. When Charon looked up again, Ahzrukhal was glaring at him. Willow noticed, too, and left immediately, keeping her head down as she passed through the double doors.

Ever since the wanderer had first stepped into The Ninth Circle, Charon had felt more and more upset by the actions he was forced to commit. He even went so far as to question a direct order, which ended with him strapped to the roof for three days, baking in the heat. He didn’t understand why he was acting up now, after decades of being a mindless servant, passed from owner to owner for muscle. Something in the way the wanderer spoke, defying the norms of the Capitol Wasteland, innocent, genuine. It stuck with him like a tumor, and he couldn’t shake it: the need to do good.

 

Willow’s warning hung in his mind as he stood guard the rest of the night and into the next day when Ahzrukhal called him over. The bar was empty, save for a few early drinkers, and in his hand he held a scrap of paper: Charon’s contract. He stared nervously. Even though Charon was taller, muscular, and no doubt a better shot, something about the man made him uneasy. The ghoul was there for Ahzrukhal’s rise to power, the double-crossing, the schemes, the death. He had committed many atrocities under the command of the chem dealer, and none of it had phased him. Ahzrukhal made his contract absolute, taking away the last feelings that had made Charon human. Only now was he starting to remember those emotions.

“Charon, I purchased this contract little over a decade ago, for a fair price. You were worth every cap,” he scratched the back of his head and then looked up at Charon menacingly. “But lately, I can’t help but wonder if your loyalties are…. fading.” He slammed the contract on the table, and Charon visibly winced. “As per the terms of this contract, you are to do anything I say. In exchange I have given you the means to survive: food, shelter. This was out of the goodness in my heart.” Bullshit. “You have continually spoken out of turn and questioned your duties, your mind is elsewhere. I could send you back, you know. To Paradise Falls. I’m sure they would buy you again at a reduced price.”

Charon’s fists clenched. Old memories resurfaced, dark, violent, terrible. He could recall it all, the slavers who bought his contract, attacking travellers, putting those awful collars around their necks. His conditioning began to kick in, a battle haze that made his mind fuzzy, and he could only shake his head as he stared at the floor.

“Good. Then do exactly as I say. The sentry, Willow, has been causing far too much trouble for us lately. She’s, well, a distraction for you,” Ahzrukhal paused and Charon felt his stomach drop. He couldn’t kill Willow, but part of him pulled back, urging him to listen to Ahzrukhal’s orders.

“It’s bad for business. You will lead her away from Underworld and shoot her dead, understood?” Charon nodded sadly, confused by his own conflicting feelings. All he knew was to obey, so why was this so hard? “I suggest you get it done as soon as possible.” He nodded again.

“That won’t be necessary,” came a voice from the doorway, breathing heavily between after each word. Charon’s head whipped towards the sound, and a familiar face gazed back at him. The jumpsuit was gone, replaced by protective combat armor. He was heavily armed, sporting a variety of additional weapons and gear, and his side-pack looked stuffed to the brim. A set of claw marks on one cheek appeared to be just healing, and the once-soft wanderer looked just as coarse as the Capitol Wasteland. He was still Dane, though, with soft, blue eyes and ruffled platinum hair. Charon held back a smile when he saw him. Dane did not.

Behind him, Willow stood, looking worried. How much had she heard? They must have rushed to Charon as fast as they could. Willow squeezed one of Dane’s shoulders before she disappeared again.

“I understand that this man is held by contract, correct?” Dane strode over to the front bar, unhindered by the scowl Ahzrukhal was giving him. The composure was new, a far cry from the shaking kid who stood in front of Charon a month ago, but the ghoul could tell underneath the wanderer was nervous.

“Yes,” Ahzrukhal snapped. “He is under my employment.”

“Then perhaps that employment can be purchased,” Dane said smoothly, setting a large bag of caps on the counter. Charon rose one eyebrow. If that entire bag was full of caps, the wanderer clearly wasn’t messing around. Willow wasn’t kidding about him wanting to help. “One-thousand caps,” Dane smiled. “For Charon’s contact.”

Ahzrukhal gazed at the bag for a moment before he shook his head.

“Charon’s…. work has been invaluable to me. I can’t part with it for less than double your offer.” He smiled evilly. Charon scowled. One-thousand caps was already massive, two-thousand was just outrageous. Dane’s face contorted, trying to think up a counter. He looked up a Charon, who was next to him, and then back to Ahzrukhal.

“I’ve heard that Charon has been increasingly disloyal to you. No doubt my offer for his escape will only make him worse.” Now it was Dane’s turn to be sinister. “One-thousand is all I’ll offer. Is an unloyal bodyguard a liability someone like you can afford to take?” Charon was impressed. Ahzrukhal was backed into a corner after a few sentences. Subtle death threats were always effective. And Charon was more than willing to follow through. “No amount of torture or punishment can cure the taste of freedom. This is more than enough to get yourself a new bodyguard, perhaps one that actually listens.”

Ahzrukhal was quiet for a long time, staring at the contract on the table. At last he broke the silence.

“Alright, I accept, but on one condition. Don’t ever set foot in Underworld again. Your kind isn’t welcome here.” He took the bag of caps from the counter and pushed the contract towards the wanderer. Dane grabbed it and stuffed it into his pocket, trying to hide his shaking hands, and Charon didn’t know what to say. He was free of that tyrant. Confusion, anger, surprise and relief washed over him all at once, and he turned to Ahzrukhal for the last time.

“Ahzrukhal. It would seem I’m no longer in your service,” he smirked, his gruff voice low and sinister. Ahzrukhal looked at him, confused.

“Yesㄧ”

Charon quickly pulled his shotgun off his back and blew him away at point-blank. The chem dealer’s head exploded, spraying blood all over the back wall before his body slumped to the floor. The execution was fluid, lethal, and Charon felt alive. His smirk grew toothy and he glanced over to Dane, whose mouth hung open.

“Oh my god,” was all Dane said. “I can’t believe you just did that.” The poor wanderer was a mess, a splash of blood once again staining his light hair. “Willow and I practiced that but this wasn’t part of the plan. Oh my god. We have toㄧ” Charon huffed and grabbed the wanderer’s arm, running for the doors as people began to flock towards The Ninth Circle. The ghoul pushed through them all. They had to get out before people realized what actually happened. Willow was standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking at Charon with her eyebrows raised as they raced past.

“What was that?” she demanded, running to keep up and seeing the blood that covered the pair. Charon snorted. It wasn’t like she actually needed an answer. Dane stumbled behind him, barely keeping up if it weren’t for the ghoul’s strong grip. He was still muttering absently to himself with shock.

The trio rushed out the front doors, through the hallways, out the museum gates and into the courtyard before they slowed to a walk, catching their breath. The sun was low in the sky, not yet setting, but still casting long shadows as they walked away from Underworld. It wasn’t until they reached the trenches that they finally stopped and hid in one of the trenches. Willow peeked over the edge to check for pursuers, but no one seemed to be following. For a moment, there was nothing but the quiet muttering of Dane. Willow put her hand on Charon’s shoulder.

“Got there just in time, huh?” She smiled nervously and Charon nodded, before she retrieved her hand. “We heard what Ahzrukhal was saying, but I don’t think you could’ve killed me if you tried.” She was awfully upbeat considering Charon would have been forced to try in the first place. Another moment of silence passed between them all before she spoke again.

“I’m going to head back to Underworld. Try to cover your tracks. I’m sure people aren’t happy about what happened, but give it a few weeks and everything will calm down, if you ever want to return,” she started to walk away and then turned again, smiling. “And Charon, it’s good to know you’re out of there.” With that, she turned once more and walked back towards the museum. He watched her go, at last understanding the friendship between them. Though they had rarely held a long conversation, Willow probably knew Charon better than anyone. A tugging on his hand broke his thoughts.

“Charon, you can let go now.” Charon’s face went hot. He hadn’t realized he was still holding the wanderer’s arm, and dropped it like white iron, taking a step away. He saw the wanderer rub the spot he’d been holding. Still a softie, it would seem.

“What was that all about,” the ghoul stammered slightly, hoping Dane didn’t notice. “You act like you’ve never shot someone before.” Dane looked defensive.

“I have, just, not so close, and shotguns are messy” he wiped some of the blood off with his sleeve. “Willow and I had a plan but…. the shooting was unexpected.” Charon muttered in agreement. “Did you really need to kill him?”

“Ahzrukhal was an evil bastard,” Charon leaned against the trench wall and crossed his arms. In truth, the decision was spontaneous, but he didn’t regret it one bit. Dane looked like he wanted to ask more, but held back, instead attempting to clean the blood out of his hair. Charon watched out of the corner of his eye. Eventually, the wanderer gave up, swept his hair back with one had, and reached into his pocket to pulled out Charon’s contract.

“So, what does this even mean?” He held it in front of himself, tentatively.

“You purchased my employment,” Charon grumbled. “When you need me, I can protect you.”

“Okay,” Dane spoke, staring at the slip of paper. “Well, I think you should have it.” Once again, the wanderer managed to surprise him.

“That’s…. not really how this works,” Charon didn’t know how to respond. He looked to Dane, who looked confused. An awkward silence hung between them.

“Charon,” he said softly in a way that made the ghoul’s throat tight. “I want you to take this. I didn’t buy this contract because I wanted to control you. I bought it to free you.” He looked up at the tall ghoul. “Do what you want with your contract, I just don’t want to be the one holding on to it.” He pressed the slip of paper to Charon’s chest, and Charon reached to hold it in place, careful not to touch the hand of the wanderer. “You and Willow saved my life before, I thought I should repay you.” He smiled and then retracted his hand. “You’re welcome to stay with me, regardless, but only if you want to.”

Charon stared carefully at the scrap of paper in his hand, considering his options. Dane had offered his independence, yes, but he also had taken away the one thing the ghoul knew how to do: obey. He felt more powerless now than ever. Charon glanced towards Underworld, where he could faintly see Willow beginning her afternoon rounds as shadows crept into the DC ruins. Then he looked at Dane, at the claw wound on his cheek. It was still stitched up, with fresh scabs formed over the surface. He may look tougher, but he was still foolish, too trusting. Charon knew his decision was made.

He nodded at Dane, throwing his shotgun back over his shoulder. The wanderer replied with a smile that made Charon both excited and nervous. It took all his strength to not let it show.

“I was hoping you’d agree. I have a place in Megaton. We’ll head there first,” Dane said, grabbing the edge of the trench. He kicked around a bit until he got a foothold, and then hauled himself up and onto his stomach. “It’s a bit of a walk, but we should be there by tomorrow morning if we don’t camp.” Charon jumped to straighten his arms on the trenches edge, easily swinging his legs up and into a squat. The wanderer leaned towards him, still on the ground, showing the bright screen attached to his wrist. He tapped a small symbol on the screen. “Right here.” He smiled again before standing.

The two spent a few minutes getting situated for the long walk, distributing gear and food evenly between each other as the sun hung over them. For better or for worse, Charon was going to stay with the wanderer, and the pair soon disappeared into the shadowy alleyways of the DC ruins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finals are starting on campus, so next weeks chapter may be a little late! thanks again for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Most of the walk through the ruins was spent in silence, trying to avoid drawing the attention of any mutants, and the pair was able to silently dispatch most that they accidentally ran into. One or two mutants were manageable. Getting turned around in the DC labyrinth and walking unprepared into five or six was a little more difficult, and significantly slowed them down. Because of this, it was long dark by the time they crossed the irradiated Potomac River and cleared the ruins on the other side. A quick look at the sky showed only a few more hours until dawn.

Dane called for a short break, dropping his pack and sitting behind a large boulder. Charon remained standing, keeping a close eye out for anything that might attack them. He really didn’t want to stop, any extra time spent out in the wasteland was dangerous, but as Dane removed his boots and began massaging his bloody blisters, Charon resigned. The wanderer may have gained a few skills in the last month, but his body was still getting used to the daily wear and tear the wasteland demanded.

“You’re a pretty good shot, huh?” Dane said, applying a few layers of bandaging to his ankles. Charon huffed in reply. “How’d you learn?”

“Immortality gives time for practice,” Charon avoided eye contact. Dane didn’t need to know any more.

“You’re…. immortal?” Dane looked shocked. Charon looked over and raised his eyebrows sarcastically. “I’m sorry,” the wanderer looked at his feet again. “No one ever told me much about ghouls.” He paused for a moment, and Charon tensed up. “So…. just how old are you?”

Charon tensed up more. To be honest, he wasn’t entirely sure. “I don’t know, fifty, maybe sixty?” he replied quickly, glancing at Dane before looking away again. “You lose track.” Dane nodded.

“How old were you when you, uh, became a ghoul?” Charon turned his back to Dane, feeling uncomfortable and unsure what to say. All these questions, Charon had never thought about them before. He couldn’t remember. Why couldn’t he remember?

He heard Dane sigh, and he looked over his shoulder towards the wanderer. 

“I shouldn’t put you on the spot like this, it isn’t fair” he smiled, but looked a little sad. “I mean, you don’t know anything about me.” Charon nodded, happy to change the subject away from himself. “Any questions before we get going?” Charon silently looked Dane up and down, before settling on the hunk of metal on his wrist.

“What’s that?” he nodded towards it.

“Huh? Oh, this thing?” Dane lifted up his wrist. It looked heavy. “It’s my Pip-Boy. I got it when I was a kid, back in the vault. Keeps track of supplies, has GPS, monitors my overall health and whatnot.”

“So you really are one of those one-oh-one smoothskins.” Charon smirked, and Dane nodded. That explained a lot. “What, did they throw you out?” Dane’s eyes widened a bit.

“I- not exactly,” he stammed. It was good to see someone else getting flustered for a change. “I mean, at first I left on my own, sorta, but the second time, uh, well-” he took a deep breath and paused before continuing. “I was training to be a doctor, although I wasn’t very good at it. I’m more of a gearhead. My dad-” Dane stopped and looked away. Charon could tell he was holding something back. “At any rate, I can’t go there anymore,” he slipped his shoes back on and grabbed his backpack silently. “We should get going.” 

Neither of them pressed further for the rest of the hike. 

 

The rusted gates of Megaton squealed closed as the pair walked into the town. Dawn had passed by the time Dane and Charon arrived, and a few people were quietly milling about the lower portions of the crater. Dane waved to one of them with a smile before hopping a large steam pipe. He motioned for Charon to follow and soon Dane was fumbling with his keys in front of a tall, boxy metal building.

“Here we are,” he pushed open the front door and disappeared inside, while Charon ducked to follow. The house was spacious, with a large wooden table sitting in the center, covered in books, a map, and boxes of food and ammunition. The shelf next to it was equally packed. A set of lockers on one end appeared to be packed with guns, and the light of a nuka-cola machine glowed from the second floor. Dane dropped his backpack near the door, and looked up towards the staircase near the wall. “I’m back!” he called out. 

“Welcome back, sir!” a mechanical voice said excitedly from the kitchen on the far end of the first floor and one robotic eye peeked around the corner. “Oh, pardon me, sirs.” Charon heard a door open from the second floor and clawed feet tapping against the metal. In a few leaps, a large dog flew down the stairs and jumped up on Dane, licking his face and whining happily. 

“Whoa, down boy, down,” Dane laughed, lacking all seriousness behind his command. “This is Dogmeat, and Wadsworth is in the kitchen,” he said between wet kisses. Dogmeat was almost as big as Dane when he stood on his hind legs, and easily reached the wanderer’s face with his floppy tongue. Charon looked over and a shiny Mister Handy appeared from the kitchen, waving his circular saw blade in greeting. Charon nodded in response, and the robot chuckled before returning to the sink. Soon, Dogmeat was standing in front of the ghoul, sniffing his leg before wagging his tail and panting. “Seems he likes you,” Dane smirked, making Charon snort. The warm greeting had Charon feeling good, too, though he wouldn’t admit it to Dane. Still, it was hard to believe―

“What the fuck is that,” came a voice from the upper balcony. Charon’s eyes narrowed and his head shot up. Standing next to the nuka-cola machine was a young man, about Dane’s age, with his hands clenched over the railing. He was wearing a blue jumpsuit, similar to the one Dane used to wear, with a black leather jacket over it. He had dark hair and snake-like eyes that were squinting right at them. His features were soft, save for the crooked nose from one to many fistfights, but the sneer that marred his face made him look cruel. The ghoul’s mood dropped instantly, and he found himself glaring back at the stranger. Dane was glaring, too.

“Butch, this is Charon. He’s a ghoul,” Dane said sternly. “Remember, I told you about them?”

“No,” Butch crossed his arms and spit out the toothpick from his mouth. It landed on the lower floor, and Wadsworth silently cleaned it up with a broom and dustpan. “I thought you said you were keeping the monsters out of Megaton.” Charon growled, ready to speak up, but Dane beat him to it.

“What the hell is your problem?” Dane sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“I thought it was just gonna be us and Dogmeat,” he waved a hand dismissively towards the ghoul. “We don’t need any freaks from the outside.”

“Charon is a friend, and you’re going to have to deal with it.” 

Butch scowled and stomped off, and Charon heard a door slam. Dane sighed and looked back to the ghoul. “I’m sorry about that. He’s just ignorant.” Charon glared, and Dane stumbled back over his words. 

“I mean, that doesn’t make it okay, just, try to understand. I offered him a place to stay for a few days after he left the vault. It was okay at first, but we had a run-in with a yao guai,” he pointed to the large claw marks on his cheek and neck. “Scared him half to death. He hasn’t left my house since. He really doesn’t know anything. I’m so sorry.” The wanderer looked embarrassed and upset, and Charon’s heart tugged for a brief moment. Dane really did care, it seemed. 

“It’s alright,” the ghoul shrugged, looking away from the wanderer. “Not the worst I’ve heard.” He slipped his bag off his shoulders as well, and set it next to Dane’s. Dogmeat’s tail was still wagging wildly, smacking into Charon’s leg and the wall. The wanderer half smiled, before ruffling the dog’s fur and pushing him away.

“Kitchen’s in the back, help yourself to anything if you get hungry. I’ll go get a spare mattress from Moira,” Dane smiled. “Hey Wadsworth, can you help?” The robot hovered out from the kitchen, following Dane. “Take some time to get situated.”

Charon nodded and turned back toward the center of the room as the wanderer and his robotic butler disappeared through the doorway. Dogmeat sat in front of him, head tilted to one side and eyeing the ghoul curiously. Charon stared back at the mangy dog for a moment before huffing and pushing past, towards the table’s bench where he sat down. He rested his arms against the messy surface and slouched back, sighing heavily as he stared at the ceiling. 

The house had seemed a lot more spacious before he knew he’d have to deal with a bigoted roommate. That was one nice thing about underworld: no smoothskins. Sure, he was employed by a chem-dealing sociopath, but at least there wasn’t anyone looking sideways at him because of his appearance. Charon rolled his head around on his shoulders, stretching out the aches. At least Dane was nice, and it wasn’t like he had to stay forever. He was free now. He could do what he wanted. 

The ghoul reached into his pocket, pulled out the crumpled contract and held it above him. Dane was the whole reason he was able to be in control of himself. He didn’t like to admit it, but if he left now, he’d probably regret it. It wasn’t like he had anywhere to go, anyway. He dropped his hand to the table with another deep sigh, accidentally knocking a box of shells to the floor. It landed with a loud thump that surprised Charon, and he turned to pick it back up when his eyes fell on Dogmeat. The hound was staring at him guiltily, tail wagging and jaws wrapped around Charon’s bag. Dane had given him some jerky to carry on their way back, and apparently someone else had smelled it. 

Charon scowled and made a noise before the dog bolted up the stairs with his prize. He launched himself out of his seat and followed, boots clanging against the metal as stomped to the top. He just barely saw the dog disappear through an ajar door near the corner of the second floor. The ghoul crept up to it, silently pushing it away. The room was small, with a bed on one end and an L-shaped desk shoved into one corner. A filing cabinet served as a makeshift dresser, overflowing with extra clothing and a familiar blue jumpsuit. Dogmeat sat happily on the bed, gnawing at the zippers on the worn-out bag. Charon wrestled the bag away, wiping away some of the slobber with his shirt and shooting the hound a glare. Dogmeat just stared at him with big brown eyes, his tail wagging playfully. The ghoul was unimpressed. 

As he turned to leave, a card on the Dane’s desk caught Charon’s eye. He stepped over and gently lifted the plastic up. It was small, with a black strip across the top. Some sort of identification or access card, probably. The numbers 21:6 were written on the back in marker. He turned it over to see more writing, and the image of a man printed in one corner. He had grey hair, but some of the same handsome features as Dane. His father, probably. It was weird to think about people having families in the wasteland. 

He quietly set the card down again and looked at the rest of the desk. There were several stacks of holotapes and books, some pencils with the erasers chewed off, a few empty nuka-cola bottles and notes taped all over the back wall. Charon frowned as started to back out the door. Dane probably wouldn’t have wanted him in―

“Snooping already, huh?” 

This time, Charon wasn’t even surprised. He rolled his eyes slightly before turning around to face his new neighbor. Butch had gotten a new toothpick, and held it lazily between his teeth as he glared up at Charon judgmentally. The intimidation tactics didn’t work so well, however, as he was still several inches shorter than the ghoul. 

“You smell awful,” the thug sneered, nostrils flaring. Charon snorted in reply.

“Yeah, well, I don’t need a nose to know you ain’t so flowery either,” he raised one eyebrow and smirked before moving around Butch. He stuck out his arm to stop the ghoul.

“Listen up, I don’t care if Dane picked you up as his little charity project,” he wiped his nose on his sleeve before cocking his head to the side. “I don’t like you. It’s crowded enough in here without your ugly mug.” Charon rolled his eyes again and pushed Butch’s arm down forcefully.

“I got it, kid. You don’t like ghouls,” he glared into Butch’s eyes so forcefully the young man stepped back a bit. Charon hated being around the thug, but he wasn’t leaving until he found a way to repay Dane. “Deal with it.” 

Butch narrowed his eyes and huffed as he balled up his fist. Tension crackled between the two until a familiar voice came from the door. Dane was back, struggling to fit a mattress through the doorway. The two men looked to the doorway and then back to each other before Butch quickly raised a pointed finger mere inches from Charon’s face.

“Alright, I’m watching you. You’re an outsider,” his voice dripped with disgust. “Make any wrong moves while I’m around….” he made a gun with his hand and pretended to shoot Charon’s head. “....and you’re dead.” Then, Butch slowly backed into his room, keeping his eyes locked on Charon until he closed the door.

The ghoul just blinked a few times and raised his eyebrows sarcastically. Empty threats couldn’t scare him. Not after everything he’d been through. He looked down at Dane, who waved at him before continuing to slide the mattress through the doorway. Charon relaxed his body and stretched his arms before stealing a glance at the wanderer again. His hair shone in the dusty air and sunlight that poured through the patchy roof, highlighting the soft curves of his face. Charon had to admit, he was attractive. Someone like Dane didn’t belong in the wasteland, yet here he was, making the best of the shithole they were all born into. He was glad to have met the wanderer, even if it got him kicked out of Underworld. 

Maybe, just maybe, if he stayed, Charon could make amends. Start new. Do some good, for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow that was a long break. thanks everyone for waiting. now that finals are over and the holidays are past, i'll be back on a more regular update schedule. so thanks everyone who has read so far and left kudos. i really appreciate it! happy new year!


	4. Chapter 4

A sudden weight pressed into Charon’s chest and he awoke with a half-hearted groan. It was dark, and cold, but the hoots and hollers of the drunken patrons at Moriarty’s Saloon could still be heard from outside. His eyes slowly adjusted, and he looked over to see Dogmeat panting at him, one paw pressed firmly into the ghoul. The mutt whimpered, tapping his feet expectantly, before Charon rolled his eyes and sat up, giving Dogmeat a few scritches on his ears before leaning back against the wall as the dog settled his head on Charon’s lap. The Nuka-Cola machine hummed quietly next to him. Dane decided the best spot for his bed would be pushed into the corner next to the archaic device, and after a bit of furniture rearrangement, Charon was able to get settled. 

Despite the Wasteland’s excessive heat during the day, it never held once the sun set. He shivered and clutched the jacket Dane lent him tighter around his shoulders. It was a bit small, but any extra layers were welcome without his armor on. He ran his fingers over the texture on the sleeves. It was well worn, bullet holes, grease stains and everything. He could picture the wanderer wearing it, huddled behind a barrier, counting the seconds as he pulled the pin from a grenade. How often had Dane been close to death since the shootout near Underworld, when they met? He frowned. Hopefully not many. 

Something clanged loudly against the roof, making Charon uneasy. From above, a voice grumbled ‘shit.’

“Careful, Charon’s asleep,” he could hear Dane murmur softly, breathy. Charon held onto every word.

“I know, I know,” Butch replied, dismissive, but still quiet. Charon heard the clink of glass being gently lifted from the metal above him, and a chair squeaking as they readjusted. “Fell asleep pretty fast after he got set up. Could swear the guy hasn’t seen a bed in years.” Charon snorted. For all his ignorance, the thug wasn’t far off. Resting for anything longer than one or two hours wasn’t a luxury his contract had included.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Dane replied. He sounded worn out, in a weary, forlorn way. Charon couldn’t help but remember their talk last night, how Dane had trailed off with the same voice.

“Why do you trust him, anyway?” Butch asked, but he didn’t sound aggressive this time. Just flatly asking.

“He saved my life, Butch. Twice. If he wanted to kill me, he’d have done it last night while I was still carrying all those spare weapons. Alone. In the middle of the Wastes,” Dane laughed slightly before pausing. “Besides, I think he’s a good person. Even if he’s been through a lot.”

“I just don’t understand how some shuffler you barely talked to, what, a month ago is suddenly trustworthy enough to join up with us.”

“Charon is my friend, Butch. At least, I feel that way. I don’t know how he feels. He’s hard to read.” The ghoul wasn’t sure himself. Having allies, no, friends, was still new to him. He had Willow, but he had no idea if he would see her again. Dane was another, different matter. He didn’t know how he felt about the wanderer, but friend was a good start. 

“And what about us, huh? I’ve saved your life, I barely dragged your mauled ass out when that yao gaui jumped us. And what about the purifierㄧ”

“Please don’t talk about that, Butch,” Dane’s voice was heavy. “I don’t want to think about that place.” There was silence for awhile after that, with only the slurred shouts from Moriarty’s indicating that time was passing. Charon heard Butch stand from his chair.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt again. We can’t trust what’s out there.”

“You can’t stay holed up forever, Butch. That’s not how life works,” the wanderer spoke softly and took a deep breath. “Just promise me one thing?”

“What?”

“Try to get along with Charon.” The ghoul heard Butch sigh again.

“Alright. But I’ll watch your back.”

“Fair enough,” Charon could hear the Dane’s smile in his voice. “Are you heading to bed?”

“Yeah, I’m beat. I don’t know how you stay up like this,” the thug yawned. It must have been getting fairly late. No more voices could be heard from the saloon. 

“Before you go, I have one question,” Charon could picture the wanderer staring ahead, lost in thought. “Why did you leave the Vault? You didn’t have to follow me out here.” There was another long pause.

“You know I still care about you. Even if I’m pretty bad at showin’ it.” Dane didn’t reply, and Charon could hear the thug sigh again before stepping along the roof and down the ladder installed at the top of the stairs. Charon quickly, quietly slid back into a sleeping position and closed his eyes, but Butch didn’t seem to care. He just opened his door and disappeared. Dogmeat stared at the ghoul stupidly. He wasn’t fooled.

It was a long time before Charon heard the wanderer stumble down the ladder in silence. His boots tamped gently against the floor, and even though Charon lay facing the wall, he could tell Dane was looking in his direction. He stood there, clearly watching, and Charon didn’t dare move. After a few agonizing seconds, however, Dane lightly tapped his thigh and whispered ‘Dogmeat, come.”

The mutt stood up and happily trotted over to his master, slapping Charon in the foot with his tail as he left. The pair then vanished around the corner and Charon heard Dane crawl into bed while Dogmeat’s feet tapped in circles, getting settled. The ghoul relaxed and rolled on to his back, resting one arm behind his head, and the other laid over his stomach. Even through the wall, his sensitive hearing could trace the slow breathing of the wanderer. He just listened, relaxing in the therapeutic rhythm of the other. They were friends, yes, but Charon knew something was off. It was something foreign, yet familiar. It made him nervous and excited at the same time. He could only describe it as warm, like holding your hands over a fire at night. 

Darkness slowly wrapped around him, and his eyes felt heavy as lead. He could think more in the morning, but for now, he strayed into dreams. Someone whispered at him from far away. He knew the words, and the voice, but the name escaped him. To speak it was to forget.

 

When Charon woke up the sun had barely risen above the walls of Megaton, and soft sunlight peeked through the patchy walls, illuminating the dust circling above the drowsy ghoul. He swung an arm over his eyes, soaking up a few more minutes of rest before his body got antsy, and he reluctantly stood and stretched. He looked over the railing and into the main area on the floor below. 

Dane was up hunched over his workbench with a scoped pistol laying in pieces in front of him. He was shirtless, down to his faded blue boxers, giving Charon a chance to secretly check him out. The wanderer was stocky, with strong shoulders and arms. The faint lines of muscle definition could be seen as he worked. His hair was ruffled and messy, but he had his goggles pulled down over his eyes, totally lost in focus as he repaired and replaced the tiny parts of the .44 magnum. Several shiny guns were leaned up against the workbench, freshly repaired, and a half empty case of red pills lay in front of him. Charon squinted. Mentats? 

“More coffee, sir?” Wadsworth hovered over to the wanderer, blocking Charon’s view. The ghoul grumbled, disappointed.

“Thank you, Wadsworth,” he held out his cup, one hand still reassembling. Charon made his way downstairs, and Dane turned to greet him. “Good morning,” he said cheerfully, goggles still down as he took a sip from his mug. They clouded up from the heat. “Coffee?” Charon nodded slowly, unsure, but accepted the cup from Wadsworth anyway. It was viscous and black, and the ghoul stared at it nervously before taking a sip. He was glad Dane had already turned around so the wanderer didn’t see the face he made, and abandoned the cup on a shelf. Meanwhile, Dane downed another mug.

“Can I see your shotgun?” he glanced over his shoulder to the ghoul, still standing awkwardly by the stairs. Charon stared at him blankly before shrugging.

“I can repair it myself. Always have,” he scratched his neck. “Thanks, though.”

“Alright,” Dane half-smiled. “Let me know if you need any parts.” Charon nodded and sat down at the table. Wadsworth immediately brought over a plate with a few strips of sizzling mirelurk meat. He tore into them while looking at the maps covering the table. Various locations had been circled, then crossed off, or had scribbles of writing underneath them. He recognized the locations of Underworld, Megaton, and a few other places he’d travelled. 

“Scavenging locations,” Dane muttered from his desk, and Charon looked up. “My Pip-boy is nice for travel, but you can’t make notes on it.” He spun around in his chair and pointed to a general area of circles to the north-west of Megaton with a grease-covered finger. “I was thinking of going across the river, it’s more dangerous, but we’re bound to find more loot out there. And having you around will help,” he looked at Charon, suddenly flustered. “I mean, if you want to come with, of course. You don’t have to.” Their eyes were locked, probably. The wanderer’s dark goggles remained an impenetrable void. Charon stared half-lidded back and raised one eyebrow lazily, not realizing the flirtatious look he still had from staring at Dane. The wanderer blushed and quickly turned back around, mumbling, when there was a sudden knock at the door. Dane huffed impatiently and set down his tools before he opened it. 

A tall man was standing there, dressed from head to toe in sheriff’s attire. His dusty hat looked silly, but he wore it with respect. Though his puffy beard hid most of his dark face, Charon could see he had friendly eyes.

“Mornin’ Dane,” he tipped his head in greeting. “You mind if I come in?”

“Good morning, Sheriff,” he gestured the man inside. “What can I do for you?” The man removed his hat and looked around. He saw Charon, but stayed on topic.

“More bad news, I’m afraid,” he sighed. “Another caravan is late. It’s been a few days now.” Dane frowned.

“And no sign of them, I suppose.” The Sheriff nodded gravely.

“Not near Megaton, anyway. While you’re out scavenging, I’d appreciate it if you’d keep an eye out,” he frowned. “These things happen, but that’s the third in two months. They were supposed to be coming from Arefu.”

“We’ll do our best, Simms,” Dane replied.

“On another note,” he turned to Charon. “Saw you two come into town yesterday. You from Underworld? What’s your name, son?” At first, Charon hesitated. Giving away personal information felt wrong to him, but Dane seemed to trust the old sheriff, so he was probably safe.

“Charon,” the ghoul replied flatly. “And yes, I’m from there.” The sheriff chuckled.

“My sources say there was a bit of an uproar a few days ago…. couple of troublemakers, running out the doors, holding hands,” he looked at Dane and winked. The wanderer blushed, stammering excuses until he put his hand on Dane’s shoulder. “Righteous trouble, I’m told. But no matter. My name is Lucas Simms. Any friend of Dane’s is welcome in Megaton, so long as they aren’t making bullet holes in my town,” he laughed in a deep, hearty way. “Pleased to meet you.” He tipped his head again before talking with Dane about their trip through the DC ruins, raider activity, and the wanderer’s salvage while Wadsworth poured Dane another cup of the so-called coffee. Eventually, he said his goodbyes, and the door shut behind him with a clunk.

Dane was staring at the wall, one hand guiding his mug to his lips and the other on his hip, before he turned to Charon and pushed his goggles up with his free hand. His warm blue eyes captivated the ghoul, and he wanted to stand, to close the space between them, but he was interrupted.

“Shall we suit up, then?” Dane smiled, and Charon nodded eagerly, pushing those feelings aside. He was excited to get out again, back into his element, and his hands ached for his shotgun. The wanderer turned to look to the second floor. “Butch, are you coming?” he shouted. Charon heard the door open, and the sleepy thug shuffled down the stairway in a puffy bathrobe. 

“Huh? Where?” he asked, uninterested, and he grabbed the mug of coffee Charon abandoned, downing it in one gulp. The ghoul grimaced. He was the only one who didn’t like the syrupy drink.

“North-west, past Arefu. We’ll probably be out there a few days.” Butch’s face contorted, but he quickly glanced at Charon, and then back to Dane, who was looking at him expectantly. 

“Alright,” he grumbled indignantly. “But I’ll need to clean up first.”

 

By mid afternoon they had arrived at Arefu’s ramp. It was quiet, although that town always was, with so few residents. Several sandbag barriers were set up on the decrepit bridge in an attempt to provide cover, and no movement appeared to be coming from the buildings beyond them.

“Evan! It’s Dane, remember?” the wanderer called out. “Don’t shoot us!” He motioned for the others to follow. There was no reply, and Charon was instantly suspicious. He pulled out his shotgun and reached forward to grab Dane’s shoulder.

“This doesn’t feel right,” he grumbled, keeping a firm grip on the wanderer. Dane looked back at him and smiled.

“It’s alright! Arefu is pretty secure, since they collapsed the north entrance.” He took Charon’s hand and squeezed it before letting go. “Either way, we should check it out, right?” Charon blushed and heard Butch snicker from behind him. He shot the thug an ineffective glare, but Butch pretended to ignore him. 

Cautiously, the three walked into Arefu, guns ready. Each door they knocked on gave no reply, and Charon made sure to stick close to Dane. The last thing they needed was to get separated. Suddenly, Butch called out from the inside of the tallest building. They rushed to his position.

The thug had his gun lowered, and was shining his Pip-Boy light on a headless corpse laying on the floor. The arms were bound behind his back, and a dried spray of blood coated the wall and floor around him. Flies were buzzing desperately in the light. Dane looked sick, and turned out the door for a moment.

“Butch, search the rest of the building, please,” he grumbled, looking away. The thug nodded quickly, eager to get away from the corpse. Charon stooped down over the body. No bullet holes, just a lot of blood. The place was too clean for raider work, even with a decapitated corpse. The wound was mangled, too. Some sort of controlled explosion. He traced his fingers along the floor around the body and his hand bumped something small. He rose and took it into the light outside to get a better look. Some kind of power cell. With blue caps. The ghoul’s eyes widened and he quickly tucked it in his pocket. He turned back to Dane, who was looking at him, concerned.

“We should go, it isn’t safe here,” he avoided eye contact. The fewer questions, the better.

“What? No,” Dane frowned. “Not until we find the others.” 

Butch looked out from an upstairs window. “No one else in here,” he called, and Charon scowled.

“They’re probably dead. We should keep moving.” Charon said, crossing his arms stubbornly. The town was dead, it was only a matter of time before something else moved in. Dane pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Bodies don’t just…. disappear,” the wanderer sighed. “They could still be alive somewhere.”

“This bridge is a dead end. If anyone followed us up here, we’ll end up like your headless friend,” Charon was getting annoyed. While Dane’s morality was charming, it was wasting their time. 

“Hey, piss off,” Butch called down. “He’s wants to help them.”

“No, Charon’s right,” Dane said and glanced up at Butch. “Even if they are alive, they wouldn’t be here.” The ghoul huffed and readjusted his backpack while Butch made his way to the ground floor. Dane slowly walked past, avoiding Charon’s gaze. “Let’s keep moving.” Butch shoved past the ghoul with a glare to walk side-by-side with the forlorn wanderer and Charon scowled. He was just trying to keep them alive. It’s a wonder Dane hadn’t been killed by now.

His first mistake was letting them walk ahead.

Charon looked over the side of the bridge. Below them was the sad remains of the slow-moving Potomac River. It’s murky waters churned and swirled in the afternoon light, and several dark boulders dotted along its banks on either side. The entire Arefu bridge spanned far longer than the width of the river, but it was still an impressive size. Enough to cause caravans trouble at least. A rotting Brahmin corpse was stuck between some rocks, covered in soggy packs of salvage. Probably the missing trader’s. 

He looked up just in time to see a raider smacking a baseball bat into Dane’s head, and his friend dropped. Butch yelled, tackling the assailant, but two more appeared and pulled him off. The raiders had hidden behind the barricades, surprising the pair as they walked past.

Charon was moving in a flash, charging with his shotgun drawn. He couldn’t risk firing at the raiders now without hitting Butch, but the stock still made a formidable weapon. He took a powerful swing at a raider holding back the thug, knocking him clean in the jaw. With one arm now free, Butch scrambled for his pistol and fired into the other raider’s leg. He howled before Charon shut him up, too. A fourth, muscular raider approached them from down the ramp, firing his hunting rifle. The shots whistled past and Charon yanked Butch over one of the barricades with him. More shots thudded into the sandbags and Butch shouted swears. The ghoul heard a pained groan from Dane, but when Charon tried to look over and find him, the raider fired again, grazing Charon’s shoulder. He grunted in pain and abandoned the attempt, focusing his shotgun on the fourth raider instead. He fired once, twice, into him, riddling the man with holes. He dropped in an instant. Behind him, Charon could see two more raiders making their way up the ramp. Too far away for a clear shot, but he still had one to take care of. He spun towards the raider with the lead pipe to see him holding Dane, a pistol held to the wanderer’s head. Second mistake.

“Don’t fuckin’ shoot,” he teased, tightening his arm around Dane’s neck. The wanderer stared at Charon, half-lidded and barely conscious. A bullet wound shone from his thigh where the rifle had shot him. He couldn’t hold himself up, and the raider had to keep readjusting his grip to keep him as a body-shield. All the while, the two unknowingly crept closer to an unrailed section. Charon glared menacingly at the raider, unable to act while the other raiders marched farther up the ramp. It was almost too late. They’d come up, capture Dane, and escape while Butch and Charon were stuck in a shootout in Arefu. 

Thankfully, the wanderer had a different plan. 

Dane punched the raiders gun-hand as he swung his head to the side, and the raider instinctively fired. The bullet severed his throat, and he relaxed his grip with a bloody gurgle. The wanderer was still too weak, and his legs gave out, tumbling over the side with the dying raider. Charon heard a loud splash from the river. Butch shouted some more, but he didn’t care. Franticly, he dropped his shotgun and vaulted over the edge and into the water far below. It stung him when he impacted the surface, rattling his focus and forcing the air from his lungs.

Underwater was just as murky as it looked from the bridge, but he moved quickly to find Dane and resurfaced with his arms wrapped around the young man’s torso. The wanderer’s blood seeped into the water as Charon gasped for air and kicked to shore, then layed him gently on the river bank. Dane rolled to one side and coughed desperately.

“Charonㄧ stimpak,” he groaned and gripped his leg before coughing some more. “In my bag. Front pocket.” Charon worked fast, unpacking and uncapping the large needle. Dane pointed his finger to his thigh and shut his eyes tight. The ghoul understood, and jabbed the shot into the muscle. Dane whimpered quietly before rolling onto his back, beneath Charon. “Sorry, this is my fault. I-is there an exit wound?”

Charon delicately lifted Dane’s leg. “No,” he replied, and the wanderer groaned again. Somewhere above them the gunfire stopped, and Charon became aware that he had abandoned Butch. He whipped his head up, and felt a wave of relief to see Butch staring down at them.

“Is he dead?” Butch yelled, and Charon shook his head, before leaning over the wanderer again. Dane’s half-lidded gaze was hardly intentional, but when he smiled at Charon the ghoul’s heart jumped. He knew gunshot wounds were a bad time to admire the wanderer’s looks, but he couldn’t help it.

“How’s the, uh, head?” Charon asked, distracting himself. Dane turned to the side and the ghoul reached to brush his long hair out of the way. It was remarkably soft. “A bit of bruising….”

“And one hell of a headache,” Dane laughed slightly before another pang of pain ran through his body and he groaned. “Charon…. I got something to tell you,” he paused for a moment and Charon stared at him nervously. “I can’t swim.”

The ghoul face-palmed before running his hand through his wet hair. “Maybe don’t jump off bridges, then.”

“That wasn’t on purpose….”

The ghoul just shook his head and stared. Something in the wanderer had him totally charmed, and when Dane looked back at him, even as a waterlogged, sandy, bloody mess, he knew he cared too much. Dane’s kindness and actions inspired something in Charon that wasn’t going away easy. His third mistake. “In the future, be careful.”

“Yes, sir,” Dane joked. “Now, help me up so I can remove that damn bullet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chapter was short, so this one's a little longer. thanks for reading again! I hope you are all enjoying the story so far!


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